


Candle Wax and Waning

by Quoshara



Series: Curse the Darkness [1]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Old Age, fear of aging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 08:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quoshara/pseuds/Quoshara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lewis's worries about his up-coming retirement, and what he'll do to fill the days following it, are not being helped by a series of murders involving senior citizens and retirees. As he and Hathaway track the murderer and examine the victims' lives for clues, he becomes convinced of one thing: even if he's not sure what he wants for his own old age, it's nothing remotely like the lives he's investigating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candle Wax and Waning

**Author's Note:**

> Beta work done by my wondrous P-i-C, speakmefair, who corrects my rampant comma abuse, controls my over-elipsising and keeps my characters from shagging their shoes (long story). She also found and organized my quotations for section breaks and keeps morning following night.
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://imgbox.com/POpx3QqX)

* * *

  


**_"There will be time to murder and create..."_ **

_For early evening it was rather dark outside, misty and cool with the threat of true rain in the air. Not a fit night for man nor beast , and all intelligent people were inside where they belonged, warm and safe._

_"But not you, Denise," the woman spoke aloud to herself, "you're standing out on the patio peering into the bushes because you thought you heard a cat crying. Probably catch your death, silly old woman."_

_She pulled her sweater tighter around her and peeked once again at the hedges that lined the back wall of the house. "Here, kitty, kitty. Here, puss... Come on now."_

_"An intelligent person would have put on a coat before going out, as well."_

_There was a sound off to the side, seemingly just around the corner of the house. She stepped off of the patio shuddering at the feel of dampness in her shoes. "Is there someone there? Michael? Sam? Did you see---?"_

_Something moved, something **not** a cat._

_"Oh. Hello." Denise smiled as the person came closer into range. "Can you help me? I'm sure I heard a cat out here and if it's Mrs. Thompson's she'll be worried sick. She doesn't let the little thing go outdoors." She pulled her sweater closer and squinted toward the bottom of the garden. "I was sure I saw something down there. Would you be a dear and take a look?"_

 

*****

**_"To lead you to an overwhelming question ..."_ **

Rain was pouring down like streaks of liquid crystal in the light of the distant street lamp. Lewis thought he probably would have appreciated the beauty of it if he'd been inside on the couch with a beer in one hand and the television remote in the other. Instead he was huddled down into his coat, his trouser legs soaked to the knees and his shoes squelching uncomfortably as he made the last turning towards the apparent crime scene. The group of white-suited forensics techs were swarming around a dark figure at the base of a low hill, a hastily erected shelter protecting both them and any potential evidence from the downpour. 

Lewis felt cold, damp, and out of sorts, wanting nothing more than to go back and curl up in his nice warm bed. It had to be a sign of growing old, didn't it, this wanting to hibernate like a bear away from other people? Next thing he knew he'd be wrapped up in a shawl, huddled next to the fireplace in his robe and slippers like some Dickensian character, complete with nightcap. _Pathetic._ How he'd be when autumn faded into true winter was anyone's guess.

His sergeant had beaten him to the scene, looking oddly serene in his mackintosh; long pale fingers wrapped around the handle of an oversized umbrella. He immediately moved forward to share what shelter he could, a slight smile on his face as he took in Lewis's soggy state.

"Don't start," Lewis grumbled. "I loaned Julie my umbrella to get her to the bus stop. Forgot to grab another when I came out the door."

"I wasn't going to say a word, sir." Hathaway professed, but the smile still twitched around his lips.

Lewis huffed, and then continued, "What have we got?"

"Denise Masterson, age seventy-four," Hathaway held up a driving license encased in a plastic evidence bag. "She owns this property from the house down to the towpath. She was found by those two young men, as they cut through on their way to another friend's boathouse. It was apparently a common practice for them to do so."

Lewis spared a glance at the young men, their expressions sad and possibly a bit spooked, "They knew the victim?"

"Casually," Hathaway's eyes followed the same path as Lewis's. "She was a friend of their parents. Nice, they said. She baked them cookies when they were younger and hired them for odd jobs around the place during school breaks if they needed money."

Lewis nodded and looked over at the boys. If he were to guess he'd say they were around seventeen or eighteen and seemed much shaken at finding a dead body. The constable standing with them was speaking in a low and calming voice, just what they needed.

"They saw her lying there and called it in immediately when she didn't respond to them."

Doctor Hobson came towards them, tugging a hooded coat on right over her Tyvek suit. "Well, it looks like you may have gotten soaked for nothing, Robbie."

"Not a murder then?"

"It doesn't appear to be." Laura answered him back. "It's only preliminary, of course, but if I were to guess, I'd say she simply slipped in the mud and hit her head on a stone when she fell. There's impact bruising on her hands and wrists and her ankle is obviously broken. The cold rain means a bit more work before I can give you an exact time of death and whether she died from the cranial trauma or from exposure from lying in the cold when she was unable to get up. I'll have to determine that with the autopsy, but it seems to have simply been an unfortunate accident."

"Well, better that than a murder," Lewis nodded with sympathy. "I'll check in with you when you've finished your report, make sure there's nothing more."

"As always," Laura nodded at him, picking up her case and heading back toward her vehicle.

"At least you can go and get dry now, sir." Hathaway looked at him sympathetically.

"Aye, there is that." 

 

*****

It felt amazingly nice in his office the next morning. Although the place could get too hot in the summer or too cold in the winter it was perfect on these bright autumn mornings, just enough warmth to keep the removal of his light coat from being too much of a shock. Of course, it could just be that a warming shower and a few more hours of sleep had improved his mood enough to make the day, and his office, seem more pleasant.

James arrived only a few steps behind him and settled down at his desk, "Good morning, sir."

"Good morning, James."

Their greetings were interrupted by the phone ringing on James's desk, "DS Hathaway... Yes, Doctor... I see. We'll be there shortly. Thank you."

James hung up the phone and turned to Lewis, "That was Doctor Hobson. It seems that yesterday's accidental death might not be as accidental as we originally thought. She's asked us to come down so we can go over her findings."

"Wonderful," Lewis sighed, but preceded James out of the door heading for the stairs.

They walked into the morgue a few moments later, and were directed towards where Laura was working.

"Ahchoo!" James frowned and sniffled.

"James?"

"Sir?"

"Catch a cold?" That would have been odd, if a bit amusing, after James teasing him about getting so wet. 

"No. I just seem to be a bit... Ahchoo!" James grunted with the force of his sneeze, "...a bit allergic to something." 

"If you say so." Robbie eyed him suspiciously but other than the sneezing and a bit of redness in his eyes, James didn't seem to be sick. He'd keep an eye out though, because the lad was all too apt to ignore any illness in favour of remaining at work. "Best take something for it then. Can't have you dragging about sick."

"Ahchoo!" James covered his face with a tissue, "Sorry, sir."

"My goodness, James. That sounds a bit nasty." Laura Hobson looked up from her work at the sound.

"Just allergies, Doctor."

"Morning, Laura. What do you have for us?" 

"It all boils down to this," Laura clicked on a magnifying projector, and pointed to a particular area on the screen. "This is the point of impact, and while it is similar in shape to what I would have expected to find if the rock had been the item she hit, these smaller marks rule it out completely. They just do not match up."

"Couldn't it have been a secondary impact?" James leaned closer to look. 

"It could have been, but it wasn't." Laura pointed to something shiny at the bottom of the gash in the victim's skull. "This is something metallic, some kind of silver and nickel blend. Possibly some kind of decorative plating?"

"Candlestick?" Lewis ventured.

"It's a bit oddly shaped, but it could have been," Laura tilted her head slightly, considering. "No way of knowing for certain...assuming she was even killed where she was found."

"You don't think she was?"

Laura shrugged, "It was difficult to determine the exact time of death due to the cold and other conditions. But I'd estimate it was around seven or eight in the evening. When we moved the body, the ground underneath her was dryer than the surrounding earth so that goes along with that time frame. Another oddity was that she wasn't wearing anything but a sweater."

"So she might have stepped out of the house dressed that way, but she certainly would not have walked all the way down to her back garden without putting on something more appropriate." Hathaway stated calmly. "Not something a woman of her age would do."

"Or really anyone with sense," Laura added.

"Aye," Lewis had to agree. "Good job, Laura."

"I live to serve... " 

"...the good cause, the great idea..." Hathaway intoned softly as they turned toward the door.

"We'll need quite of few of those to work through this case."

"Ahchoo!"

"And some more tissues...."

*****

Hours later their desks were littered with coffee cups, half-eaten sandwiches and bags of crisps, folders, scrappy bits of paper, pens, pencils and a somewhat neatish pile of notes. In spite of numerous phone calls and statements taken from neighbours it wasn't much. Even the whiteboard was sadly still very white, with little more information than they had begun with. Denise Masterson had no close family, aside from a niece that had moved away several months earlier, and only a few friends, mostly members of her knitting club and her immediate neighbours. No one seemed to hold any grudge towards her, and no one would gain from her death...aside from a few charities that she supported and who were the primary beneficiaries of her estate. Even that didn't appear enough to tempt anyone to homicide, being little more than the house she had lived in and approximately five thousand pounds in savings.

"I don't know what we're missing," James had finally summed up what they had both been thinking. "There seems to be no motive. She really didn't seem to have much of anything worth stealing, and it looks like nothing's been taken from her home anyway. Could it just have been a random killing, or an accident that someone is afraid of admitting to?"

"It could be," Lewis sighed. "Come on, lad. We'll get no farther with this tonight. Best call it a night and start back fresh in the morning."

James nodded reluctantly, and they both took a moment to clear the detritus off of their desks before gathering their jackets and going out the door.

"It's a shame, really. She seemed to be a good person, spry for her age and fairly active." Lewis shook his head as they walked out. "We'll check with her carer tomorrow. I don't expect we'll learn anything, but maybe she knew something more. "

*****

**_"Then how should I begin  
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?"_ **

 

Home was...well, he hardly thought of his flat as home. It was a place where he slept and ate and got out of the weather. It was simple, with off-white walls and neutral carpet and a design that was interchangeable with any of a thousand other flats. Still, it was comfortable enough, for all its blandness, and small enough to make his housework fairly minimal. Its major benefits were that it was near work and, aside from a few photos, it held no memories of the past.

That lack had been very important to him right after Val died, but now, living there was just a matter of laziness. It just seemed like so much trouble to move when he wasn’t sure what else he wanted besides four square walls and a bit of convenience. Maybe when he retired he'd consider a move, but until then he didn't feel the need for anything more.

Well, almost nothing more. A bit more company would be nice, but he wasn't so sure that he wasn't too set in his ways to manage it. At his age making new friends wasn't as easy as it once was, so when he and Laura had finally given being a couple a try it was nice, sweet and comfortable. Too comfortable, as it turned out -- the spark burned out rather quickly and they both decided they were better as friends...good friends, but not so good as to take up a lot of his off-duty hours. He spent a lot of his free time alone because he didn't fancy doing the things that so many aging people seemed to try -- taking up new hobbies or playing cards or raising budgies...wouldn't have been practical with the cat there anyway.

Lewis snorted out a laugh. He must really be feeling sorry for himself if he was considering the practicalities of budgie-raising. It was definitely time to call it a night and try for some sleep.

*****

Miss Jennifer Stanley was exactly what Lewis thought of when he thought of a carer, no-nonsense but still warm and kindly, rather like Mary Poppins for seniors. She was about thirty-eight years old with blonde hair fading early to ash, comfortable clothes and sensible shoes.

"Miss Stanley, thank you so much for coming to meet with us," Lewis began. "I'm DI Lewis and this is DS Hathaway."

"No bother at all, sir. Ms. Masterson was a lovely woman, and I want to help in anyway I can," she gave a nod and a smile. "And thank you for arranging this to suit my schedule. I do so hate to run behind. Some of my ladies and gents do get a bit fussed if their schedules are thrown off."

Lewis offered her a seat and asked his first question, "What can you tell us about Denise Masterson?"

"Not a lot. I only saw her for two hours twice a week. I did the housework that she didn't feel able to do mopping, vacuuming, and changing the bed linens, a few other things. She was in very good health for the most part, but she was seventy-four years old and we all slow down a bit at that age," Miss Stanley continued, "Her niece had been staying with her before I started coming 'round, but she'd just had a job offer in the States. She does some kind of technical work, I'm not exactly sure what. And that left Ms. Masterson a bit on her own."

"We knew about her niece, but we haven't been able to contact her. Can you give us an address, or a phone number? She'll have to be informed," Hathaway spoke up.

"Oh, I should have it in Ms. Masterson's paperwork. I'll look it up when I'm done for the day and give you a ring. Will that be alright?"

"Certainly, Miss." Lewis nodded. 

"Ahchoo!"

"Excuse me." Hathaway said, his voice muffled behind a handkerchief. "Allergies."

"Nasty things aren't they? I get a touch of hay fever every spring."

Lewis dragged the conversation back on track, "Did Ms. Masterson have any trouble with any of her neighbours? Can you think of anyone who might wish to harm her?"

"No. No one at all. As I said, she seemed to be a lovely woman, if a bit sad. She did seem to miss her niece quite a bit. That was her only family, as far as I know." Miss Stanley shook her head, "So sad to be all alone, especially as you grow older." 

"Thank you, Miss," Lewis stood and handed her one of his cards. "This is the number you should call with that contact information."

"And don't be afraid to call if you think of anything else that might be helpful," Hathaway added, ushering her towards the lift. "You never know what might help us fit the pieces together."

"Will do."

"Ahchoo!"

"And you take care of yourself, Sergeant," Miss Stanley patted James on the arm as she turned and walked toward the elevator.

"Nice woman," James said blandly as he returned to his seat. 

"Yeah. Keep up the sneezing and she might even bring you some chicken soup." 

 

*****

It was one of those afternoons where he wished the weather were milder and they could go outside to their usual spot overlooking the river, where the sunset and the swirl of water as the ever-present ducks glided by were the most diverting things within view. As it was the chill that had come in during the later part of the day was keeping them and everyone else inside the pub and the flurry of movement and conversation was doing nothing to settle his mind.

When James returned to their appropriated booth Lewis barely kept his frustration inside long enough for him to set down their pints and take his seat.

"This is ridiculous. Someone must have seen something, even with the rain." Lewis took a drink of his pint, sitting it down almost roughly afterwards.

"It's possible that someone did and just hasn't realized it yet." James tapped his fingers on the edge of his glass. "If it was someone they were expected to be there, it might not have registered."

"Like the mailman or some such?" Lewis gave a snort, "Not likely though, is it?"

"Unlikely isn't impossible," James gave a shrug and looked down into his glass.

Lewis sighed, "Sorry, lad. We're here to relax and get away from the job, not bring it along."

"It's quite alright, sir," James's lip quirked in a small smile.

Silence fell between them for a long moment, each of them in their own thoughts as they stared out over the crowded pub. It should have been awkward, but somehow it never was between the two of them. Even with their work-related frustrations, they were both relaxed as they sat together and Robbie knew that if he reopened the subject of their current case, James would make no complaint.

_Really,_ Robbie thought, _the lad indulges me too much. Here he is, sitting with me when most blokes his age would be off for an evening with friends or arranging a date or something._

Still, he supposed, he was very glad for the company, because his alternative was another night in an empty flat with nothing but the telly and the cat for company. It was an acceptable life but incredibly dull at times and, if he sometimes felt guilty for taking up so much of James's time, he had to feel grateful that the lad was willing to give it.

"Another, sir?" James said, indicating their nearly empty pints.

"No. Thank you, lad. I'd best head home and try to get some rest before we have to butt our heads against this again." Robbie shook his head, "Besides, I'm sure you have more to do than spend time with your grouchy old guv'ner."

"Actually, sir, your grouchiness has become a staple in my life." And there it was again, that lip-twitch of a smile.

Robbie snorted out a laugh, "Good for me, that is. Off with you now. I'll see you in the morning."

"Right. Good night, sir."

*****

There was really nothing on the television that would hold his attention enough to keep his mind off the Masterson case. The idea of someone who was happy and healthy one moment and gone the next was conjuring up thoughts that he didn't want to have.

He'd been to his own doctor recently and it had brought home to him that he really was not getting any younger.

_"You're going to have to slow down, Mr. Lewis," the man had told him. "Your blood pressure is high and it's entirely possible that job related stress has a lot to do with it."_

_"It's the thought of retiring that's giving me stress," Lewis had claimed. "What am I going to do all day? Sit around and knit doilies?"_

The doctor had just shook his head and prescribed some medication. Lewis hated taking it, but did it just the same. He couldn't help thinking it was just one more step toward having to admit that he was old.

It was not an uplifting idea, but there certainly was nothing he could do to stop it. Aging happened. If you were lucky you settled into it with grace and acceptable health with your family and friends around you. 

_Or not so gracefully and all on your own._

"Dinner then." Robbie shook his head and went into the kitchen to poke through the cupboards.

He had just about settled on toasted cheese and soup when his phone rang.

"Lewis.... Right. Where?" He jotted down an address. "I'll give Hathaway a call and we'll be there as soon as we can."

Lewis clicked over and hit the speed-dial for his Sergeant. "James? We have another murder."

*****

**_"The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase..."_ **

The body looked so small on the large sofa, not shrunken, but withered with age. A part of Lewis wondered if he were supposed to feel better when the victim was old rather than young, less regret for a life not lived after all, but somehow he couldn't. Maybe it was his own aging process making him feel a closer kinship or maybe it was just the idea of them having lost so much experience in the world. 

Mr. Harold Granger, age 82, had been a professor of Mathematics, long retired but settled near his former college with his wife, Marilyn, who had preceded him into death by a little over eighteen months. Since then he had lived a quiet life, in a quiet home, in a quiet neighbourhood, his solitude only interrupted by the occasional tutored student and, sadly, by whoever killed him.

The house was neat and well-kept, tidy. The only clutter was on a desk in the corner of the room, which was covered with text books and papers. The deceased's work areas most probably.

"Suffocated," Laura told them, "most probably by way of a cushion over his face. It looks like he fought, but at his age he probably didn't have the strength to do much. I'd guess the time was between six and seven this evening."

"Ahchoo!"

Lewis heard the sneeze and looked up to see Hathaway standing near the door, speaking with the constable on duty and a young man. He raised a hand and waved him over. "What do you have?"

"He was found by one of his students who was coming by for a tutoring session." 

"That late in the evening? Was that usual?" Lewis looked at the young man standing by the door with a sad expression on his face.

"Apparently so," Hathaway gave a small shrug. "The student, Daniel Marza, says that Mr. Granger was a chronic insomniac and encouraged them to come by any time they'd like. They spoke at around four this afternoon and arranged for Marza to come by at nine, which was when he found the body. He called the police to report the murder."

"Not emergency services?"

"No. He said the door was ajar when he arrived, which was unusual, and that he found him with that cushion over his face." James pointed to the object that now lay on another part of the couch. "He moved it enough to check for a pulse and breathing." Hathaway glanced over at the young man again. "He's bit shook up. Seems his family has known Mr. Granger for years."

Lewis nodded, "He's lived here alone, since his wife died?"

"Yes, according to Marza. Ahchoo! "James gave a sheepish grimace. "Sorry, sir."

"That doesn't seem to be going away."

"No, sir."

"Just take care not to contaminate the crime scene then."

"No, sir." James looked rather incensed at the mere idea. "Anyway, as far as Marza knows, Mr. Granger has no close family and only a few friends that he sees regularly, although he does belong to a few local groups. He loved to play cards and belonged to the local chess club."

Hathaway nodded at a couple of framed certificates hanging on the wall, "It seems he was rather good at the game – ranked highly in the local competitions."

"It wasn't a skill that kept him alive though," Lewis frowned, and then turned back to Laura. "Thank you. Let us know if you find anything else."

"As always," she gave a nod and then signalled for her assistant to bring in the body bag.

Lewis and Hathaway walked toward the front door, giving brief instructions to the constables and speaking briefly with Daniel Marza before returning to their car.

"Well..." Lewis said, settling behind the wheel.

James just looked at him, expectantly, one eyebrow raised.

"Don't give me that look. You think these two murders are linked too." Lewis put the key into the ignition and started the car. 

"Two deaths in two days. Completely different methods of murder of two elderly people, living alone, no close family and no obvious motive. Could be a coincidence."

"At this point it is. We'll see if we can find a link after we question the neighbours and look into Mr. Granger's financial records."

"It would appear that robbery was not the motive in this case. Nothing appeared out of place at all."

Lewis nodded grimly. "Well, it's too late tonight to question the neighbours, or to run the checks we'll need to run. Guess we'll call it a night and get on it first thing tomorrow."

"Yes, si-- Ahchoo! --sir."

"You need to get that taken care of," Lewis frowned.

"I know, sir," Hathaway carefully wiped his nose. "I'm not sure what's setting them off, though. I'll take some Piriton when I get home."

*****

Their morning had been full of interviews -- neighbours, friends, fellow members of Mr. Granger's chess club -- and completely devoid of any clues. They were now back at the station, settled down at their desks with all the information they'd gathered, sorting through it separately and in conjunction with the Masterson case.

"I'm not finding anything they had in common rather than old age, natural infirmities, and living alone." James frowned, "Although, they both had carers from the same agency. Miss Stanley for Ms. Masterson and a Mrs. Conroy for Mr. Granger."

"We'll do an interview there then, though I doubt we'll get anything more. From what I can tell that's a pretty large agency. They probably provide half the care-givers in town."

James nodded, "The only other thing they have in common is the Stacy Jones Centre. That's where both Ms. Masterson's knitting club and Mr. Granger's chess club are based." 

"Best stop by and see if we can learn anything there then," Lewis looked up at the clock. "It's lunch time. We'll stop for a sandwich or something and then go by."

*****

Lunch had been relaxing. Lewis had declared it a work-free zone and instead of going over the facts that they had been sifting through all morning, _again,_ they talked about the performance that James's band had coming up in a few weeks. They talked about Lewis's daughter, Lyn, and how fast his grandson was growing. They discussed the coming-much-too-quickly holidays and their tentative plans -- none, apparently. They didn't dawdle over their food, but they both felt rejuvenated and ready to continue on to their next stop, the Stacy Jones Centre.

The Centre was a fairly recent addition to the neighbourhood. The building had, at one time, been a gymnasium for local boxers, and then was converted to a fitness centre during the 80s. When the aerobics craze had died down, the building was purchased by the Jones Foundation, a local entrepreneurial group that had turned it into a kind of community centre. It had meeting space for local clubs and a small day-care/afterschool care facility for local children. Young and old intermingling – apparently it was the latest idea for how to keep the young safe and the old feeling young. Lewis could see the appeal, in small doses. 

The entryway was, in fact, decorated with memorabilia of the building's past with photos of prize fighters and past exercise classes on the wall. There was also a display case with trophies not, as might be expected, for the prize fighters but for the Centre itself -- for its sponsored programs and the 'beautification' of a historical community site and a few for various competitions won by members of the various clubs.

"Silverplate, sir." James pointed at one of the trophies. "And there does appear to be space near the end where one seems to be missing."

Lewis nodded, as they continued in through the door.

The facility was well run and maintained from what Lewis could see as they entered. There was a small area just past the entrance where some of the children were sitting on a rug while an elderly woman read out of a large book. There were also a couple of comfortable looking couches and two or three of the senior members of the Centre were sitting there, other youngsters settled on laps and knees while they too listened quietly to the story.

"The more that you read, the more things you will know," James said quietly, watching the tableau.

"Flaubert?"

"Dr. Seuss," James clarified, his face totally deadpan.

Lewis huffed out a laugh, "The office is back there."

The office door was wide open and as they approached Robbie could hear music playing softly. He recognized the tune as an old _Doors_ classic, to which the man behind the desk was head-bobbing as he typed away on his computer.

"Mr. Morgan?"

The man looked up and blinked distractedly, "Yes?"

"Sorry to interrupt your work. I'm DI Lewis and this is DS Hathaway. You were expecting us, right?"

"Oh." Their names apparently clicked into the man's consciousness and he smiled. "Oh yes, sorry. Hang on."

He moved to turn off the radio, "Sorry, the music helps me think and after a morning of being bombarded by CBeebies and Disney, I need something to clear out my brain."

"Completely understandable," Hathaway intoned, causing Lewis to bite back a chuckle. If he were to choose anyone less likely to take an interest in the preferences of toddlers it would be his sergeant. 

"Take a seat. Take a seat. Please." Mr. Morgan said waving at the two chairs in front of his desk. "What can I help you with?"

"We'd like to ask you about two of your club members." Lewis watched the man's face closely. "Ms. Denise Masterson and Mr. Harold Granger."

"Oh, yes. So sad and tragic that both of them died. And so close together," Mr. Morgan shook his head. "It really has some of our older visitors spooked."

"Spooked how?" James asked.

"Well, you know the old saying about death coming in threes. Now they all feel like they might be next to round out the set. Ridiculous, of course, and I'm sure they know that deep down. But it still makes them feel a bit unsettled, especially with their deaths not being from natural causes and all." Mr. Morgan shook his head. "There are times when I wish I could ban them all from listening to the news or reading the papers."

"Then they'd just worry about what they didn't know," Lewis shrugged.

"That's probably true." Mr. Morgan smiled and nodded.

"What can you tell us about Ms. Masterson and Mr. Granger?"

"Not much about Denise, I'm afraid. She belonged to the knitters' group, and was usually here once or twice a week besides that -- to play cards, or meet with friends. Sometimes she had a younger woman with her...a relative, I think."

"Her niece?" Hathaway asked.

"Yes, I believe she was, actually. I think she moved away though, several months back." 

"And Mr. Granger?"

"Now him I can tell you a bit more about," Mr. Morgan chuckled. "We're both members of the local chess club that meets here. The man was an absolute shark at chess. Absolutely no mercy when he was playing. He used to beat the pants off me quite regularly."

"Ruthless then?"

"Yes," Mr. Morgan nodded. "But only when he was competing. He taught the game to whoever wanted to learn, even the kids young enough for Leckford Place, and he picked up a lot of his tutoring students through the Centre."

"So it was business as well as pleasure?" Lewis raised an eyebrow.

"Hardly," Mr. Morgan was quick to deny it. "Most of his tutoring was done gratis. Or at least the pupils he took on through the Centre. He did get paid for students from some of the colleges though."

"Could you think of anyone who might wish to hurt either one of them? Someone who didn't like being beaten at chess or someone he tutored that didn't pass? Anything?

"No." The man looked rather put out with himself that he couldn't come up with a name. "What I saw of Denise, she seemed a lovely woman. Kind and generous, just like Hal. They both seemed like happy, easy going types...a bit lonely though. It's hard to live by yourself at that age. I think you feel the loneliness more strongly when you've retired and don't have so much to occupy your time."

"Did Mr. Granger and Ms. Masterson know each other?" Hathaway asked.

"They might have done," Mr. Morgan frowned for a moment, considering. "We do have monthly gatherings for the seniors. It's a bit of a party, a bit of a game night, and a bit of just sitting around and gabbing about whatever anyone feels like gabbing about. Sometimes it can turn into a right bitch-fest about the government, or family, or finding someone to put a new roof on the house. It seems to help them to let it out and sometimes...well, if they're lucky they find a reputable roofer."

"Ah, not a total waste then," Lewis nodded. "Oh, one more thing though. We noticed your display case out front seems to be missing one of its trophies."

"Oh?" Mr. Morgan said. "It's probably just been sent out to have the latest winner's name inscribed on it."

They walked back out through the Centre after leaving their cards with Mr. Morgan. Reading time was apparently over and most of the children were playing a somewhat noisy game involving sitting in a circle while one child walked around the outside, tapping each of them on the head and intoning, "Duck....duck....duck....duck..."

Stepping out into the sunlight and walking toward the car, Lewis looked at his partner and shook his head, "Go ahead. You've been twitching for a smoke for more than half an hour."

"Thank you, sir." James smiled and pulled out his pack, lighting up as they continued walking.

"What do you think of his excuse?"

"About the trophy? It seemed a legitimate enough answer."

"Or it could just be a lie."

James blew out a puff of smoke, "It could be."

"But otherwise it makes all of that a right waste of time," Lewis sighed, poking a thumb back towards the building.

"Not entirely, sir."

Lewis looked at Hathaway, feeling a bit puzzled, "Not entirely?"

"No, sir. " James said, his expression showing Lewis that he was about to completely take the piss, "At least now you know where you can kill some time once you retire."

 

*****

**_"I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,  
And in short, I was afraid."_ **

They had gone back to the office after their visit to the Centre, to find Mrs. Conroy, Mr. Granger's carer, waiting for them. She was a neatly dressed woman in her mid-40s, thin, but wiry in the way people had who spent a lot of time outdoors and engaged in physical activity. She seemed very nice and fond of all her charges, in the distant way that nurses often had. Beyond that, they learned little more about Mr. Granger and his life than they had already had from Mr. Morgan.

"So, you can't think of anyone who had reason to dislike Mr. Granger or want to harm him?" Lewis had asked her.

"No." Mrs. Conroy had seemed very sure. "He was a very nice person, not a bit crotchety like some clients we have. He seemed content with growing older but happy and healthy. He missed his wife dreadfully of course, but he had a lot of interests to keep him occupied – his chess tournaments and his tutoring. "

"Alright then, Ma'am." Lewis nodded to her. "Sergeant Hathaway will show you out. Here's my card. Please call me if you think of anything to help us."

Lewis went home that night, tired and feeling a bit frustrated. He would have enjoyed going to the pub with James for a couple of pints and a bit of supper, but it was one of the lad's rehearsal nights, so Lewis just waved him off early with a smile, struggled through another hour or so of paperwork and dead ends, then went home to tinned soup and stale crisps. 

It was a bit depressing, actually, and brought to mind James's words from that afternoon -- _At least now you know where you can kill some time once you retire._

The Stacy Jones Centre with its endless string of clubs and meet-ups, or an allotment...which at least meant he'd have something more to show for his work than a trophy or bit of paper on the wall.

Lewis laughed roughly, at himself, "Yeah, you might also find a reliable roofer if you need one."

He slouched down on the couch, leaning his head back and staring at the ceiling. His retirement wasn't really that long off, was it? Although he hadn't even considered a definite date, it was no longer just a nebulous point in the future. Now it was more like "In a few years" -- _or months_ \-- rather than "at some point".

It was almost a frightening thought.

"Wonderful, now you're depressed _and_ frightened," Lewis shook his head. Retirement was supposed to be something you looked forward to, a time to do all the things you wanted, with plenty of time to do them in.

The only thing was, he had planned on doing them with Val. 

What did he have to look forward to now? He could move north to be near his daughter and grandson, but eventually being 'dad' and 'grandpa' would pale and there he'd be, far away from the things he liked. And, all other things aside, he liked living in Oxford. It was an interesting place, with interesting people, and the few friends he had were there -- Laura and James. And --

He had a sudden image of himself, sitting at the pub near the station, regaling anyone who would listen about his glory days on the force. It wasn't an appealing picture at all. He could imagine Laura and, even worse, James, grimacing every time he showed up on their doorstep or beginning to ignore his phone calls.

That was something he refused to become -- old and pathetic. Well, no, he didn't have much say in the getting old part...but pathetic was right out.

His mobile rang, interrupting his mental ruminations.

"Lewis...Oh, right.... Where?" Lewis grabbed a scratchpad and pencil and scrawled out an address. "Alright, I'll be on me way as quick as I can."

Another murder. Lewis grabbed his keys, and his coat, pausing only to feed the cat before he went out the door.

*****

Even as quickly as he left, he still arrived after James and Laura. James had obviously come straight from his rehearsal, his jeans and trainers peeking out below his long, more formal, coat. It was a look that suited him; his sergeant had always been very much of two worlds.

"Ahchoo!"

"I thought you'd got over that." Lewis frowned at him.

"I thought I had too," James wiped at his nose.

"Probably aggravated by the smell in here," Lewis gave him a nod. The smell was quite obvious, even with the windows open and a fan blowing strongly in the open doorway. It was obviously coming from a small gas-fuelled heater in the corner of the room. "What have we got?"

"Miss Glynis Yates, age 68," James spoke quietly as they watched Laura at work over the body. "She's lived here by herself for the past three years since the death of her sister. 

"Another loner," Robbie muttered under his breath.

"It would appear so, sir. A neighbour, Sandra Towson, was in the habit of checking on Miss Yates by phone every evening at about nine. When there was no answer she came over, let herself in, and when she smelled the gas, called 999. She opened the windows and came in with her face covered long enough to see if she could rouse Miss Yates, but it was too late."

Another small but sturdy form lying quietly in a bed. Glynis Yates was obviously a reader if the stack of books on the bedside table and the one tumbled negligently next to her on the duvet were any sign. She had been a tidy woman, warm flannel night gown buttoned up to her chin, her hair neatly styled if a bit bed rubbed, and her nails polished in a bronzy shade of red. The room was not nearly as tidy as Miss Yates herself, however. There were scrapes of cloth and bits of unfinished projects piled on a table next to sewing machine, a large map pinned up on one wall with multi-coloured flags sticking out of it, and a computer, with cryptic sticky-notes all around the edges of the monitor. 

Lewis wondered what _"Stars. Can't do it. Not today."_ was meant to mean.

"Miss Yates was a very busy woman."

"A mind that outstripped the expectations of her years." James nodded.

"Meaning that she didn't allow the fact that she was older keep her from enjoying the same things as younger people?"

"So it would appear," James gave a nod to the top of a nearby book case. It was cluttered with all sorts of things, but central to them was an eight inch tall, blue ceramic police box. There was a sticky note there too, with the words, _"You never forget your first Doctor"_ scrawled on it.

Lewis looked around the rest of the room his eyes finally landing again on the slight figure in the bed. "Someone so alive shouldn't be dead."

"I quite agree," Laura looked up from where she was working and stepped over to them. "It looks like another murder...done around eight this evening.

"Not suicide?" 

Hathaway shook his head, "According to Mrs. Towson, she'd never seen the heater in the house before. As a matter of fact she seemed very surprised by it because Miss Yates was quite safety conscious, always fussing about children without proper sports safety equipment and raising money to provide it."

"So how did the murderer get it in here? Surely she wasn't that sound a sleeper," Lewis looked sceptical. 

"I believe she was sedated beforehand," Laura told him. "I'll know more when I've done the autopsy."

"Ahchoo!"

"Bless you. Are you alright, James? Sure you're not catching a cold?" Laura looked up at him.

"Allergies," Lewis and James answered her together.

"I see," Laura's lips twitched. 

"Anything else you can tell us?" Lewis said gruffly.

"He should take some Loratadine tablets when he gets home. Very good for allergies." Laura's eyes twinkled with mischief.

"Har, har," Lewis rolled his eyes. "I meant about the murder."

"No." Laura admitted, her lips still firmly holding back any hint of a smile.

"Come on then, James. Let's talk to that neighbour." 

*****

They spoke to Mrs. Towson and the other neighbours that had gathered when they saw the police vehicles and the morgue van pull up, but really didn't gain much information. Miss Yates was described as a 'nice old bird', 'a wonderful neighbour', and 'bright and very active for her age'. That last one made Lewis frown...and he didn't think anyone would blame him. Glynis Yates was only five years older than he was, for God's sake, that wasn't old. And, if everyone were to be believed, she was active enough for someone half her age.

It was going on one in the morning by the time they wrapped everything up and got the crime scene secured and Lewis helped James retrieve his guitar from one of the squad cars and put it into his own boot, James having been brought to the site by one of his band mates. 

"Another waste," Lewis grumbled as he started up the car.

"Well, at least we ruled out any connection to the Jones Centre," Hathaway pointed out.

"Mostly," Lewis agreed.

Miss Yates had gone to a few gatherings at the Centre but decided it wasn’t for her. Apparently, her reaction had been 'too many old people', which was a sentiment that Lewis could sympathise with. Mrs. Towson said that Miss Yates went there very infrequently when there was a speaker she was interested in, but never for any club meetings or gatherings.

Mrs. Towson had also told them that Miss Yates had a carer from the same agency that Mr. Granger and Ms. Masterson, but she didn't know the woman's name and wasn't sure how frequently she came in.

"So... we start fresh tomorrow?" James asked quietly, and then sneezed again.

"Assuming you don't sneeze something loose," Lewis frowned. "I think we need to take a trip to the agency. Talk to those in charge and get a bit more of idea of their scheduling. Even if no one there is directly involved, it may be that it's someone using the carers to sneak in or something."

Hathaway nodded, "They would be as easy to see and ignore as the postman. Always there at the same time every week, always leaving at the same hour. People would see them but not really notice."

Lewis nodded, "And very easy to take advantage of the trust they were given."

And that very trust might be what was killing all of them, the trust that someone who was let into your home and was supposed to be taking care of you would be safe. Having that trust violated...the very idea was making Lewis's skin crawl.

*****

The agency's offices were small and rather unassuming. The lobby area consisted of a few chairs, a simple but comfortable couch and the usual tables covered with somewhat out of date magazines. There were also a few plants and racks of flyers that touted local organizations for seniors and the agency's own offerings. It was more or less exactly what Lewis had expected off it.

They had introduced themselves to the receptionist and were now waiting the attention of Mrs. Jean Kilpatrick, the general manager of the agency. 

James was still sniffling a bit, apparently whatever allergen he was battling was still winning the war. It was more subdued at the moment but the lad's eyes looked red and somewhat watery.

"What's that you've got?" Lewis peered at the pamphlet that Hathaway had plucked from one of the displays and was flipping through, an amused smile on his face.

"I just wanted to be prepared," James answered, holding the front page up towards Lewis.

"Helping with transitioning -- Your parent is now retired and feeling at loose ends. You can help them with a few simple steps." Lewis tugged the booklet out of James's hand. "I'm not _your_ father, you know?"

"Yes. I know." Hathaway's voice was suddenly so serious that Lewis had to study his face for a few long moments. As usual, Hathaway's face didn't give away a thing and he just blandly picked up a magazine and began flipping through it.

What was that supposed to mean? Did the lad wish he was his father? Or angry that Lewis denied the possibility that they were close enough? Really, he didn't want the lad to feel obligated to 'transition' him when he retired. He wanted James to get himself together and do his promotional exams and move into his own vacated spot. He was good at his job and deserved that recognition.

Of course, that didn't seem to be what James had ever wanted. But what _did_ he want? Even as well as he knew James he couldn't answer that. He'd feel honoured to be allowed to remain in James's life after he retired, he just didn't want it to be out of pity...or a misplaced sense of responsibility. And truth be told as much as he admired James and held him in the highest affection, he really didn't feel the urge to 'father' him. He wasn't always sure enough that he'd done that fine a job with his actual children, to want to take on another. Besides, James didn't really need that, he needed --

"Inspector?" The receptionist interrupted his train of thought. "Mrs. Kilpatrick will see you now."

Jean Kilpatrick was a sturdy woman in her late-30s, she had a kind but no nonsense attitude that Lewis appreciated right away. This was a woman who got things done.

"What can I do to help you, Inspector?" She looked expectantly at both of them. "I'm fully prepared to give you any information I can, as long as it doesn't violate the privacy of any of our existing clients. Hiring records, background checks, employment practices -- I'm assuming that's what you'll be most interested in -- are all open to incoming clients so they'll be available to you immediately."

"That's very helpful of you, Mrs. Kilpatrick."

"Oh, please, call me Jean." She smiled at them both, "I want to be helpful. It's very important that our clients feel safe with their carers. This whole thing has left many of them feeling rather paranoid and I can't say as I blame them one bit."

"No, I don't think I do either," Lewis agreed.

"Can you tell us who does your scheduling?" James asked. "Who decides who does the hours and such?"

"That would be--"

"Jean? Now that I'm not seeing Denise Masterson anymore, do you think I could get—" Jennifer Stanley came into the office, a client file open in her hands. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry; I didn't know you had visitors."

"Ahchoo! Excuse me..."

"Oh dear, Sergeant, allergies still acting up?" Miss Stanley shook her head sympathetically.

"So it seems," Hathaway answered, pulling a tissue out of his pocket to wipe his nose.

"I'll be with you shortly, Jen." Mrs. Kilpatrick told her. "I just need to get the detectives settled. Did you see Joseph when you came through? "

"Yes. He was just stepping into the break room, I believe," Miss Stanley answered, going back out the door. "Just give me a buzz when you're free."

"Will do," Mrs. Kilpatrick nodded and then turned back to the two officers. "Joseph Greenly does our scheduling and keeps us all organized. He also does a bit of fill-in as a carer during vacations and for sick time."

Hathaway sneezed again, and apologized when Lewis scowled at him.

"No worries, Sergeant. All of us have our little weaknesses, don't we?" Mrs. Kilpatrick stood up, and motioned towards the door. "I'll show you where the break room is, and Joseph can get you started with going through our paperwork...if you don't have any more questions for me?"

"Not right now, ma'am." Lewis opened the door and allowed her to precede them down the hallway.

"It's just through here." Mrs. Kilpatrick smiled. "Oh...there's Joseph now."

The young man coming out of the break room was in his mid-twenties, dark haired and amiable looking, right up to the point that Mrs. Kilpatrick continued.

"Joseph, this is DI Lewis and DS Hathaway and they---"

The young man's eyes flew open in surprise and he instantly bolted towards the back of the office.

"Stop!" 

He was fast, very fast, but so was Hathaway. Lewis charged after them, knowing he wouldn't be able to keep up but certain the chase wouldn't last long.

It didn't. The young man, Joseph, had to pause to get the rear door open and when he did, James grabbed him, shoving him up against the wall and subduing him.

"Oh, come on. It was only eight tablets. She didn't even need them any more. Her doctor gave her something different..." the young man whined. "I still have them, I can give them back."

"You stole drugs from one of your clients?" Hathaway huffed out his perturbation. 

"Yeah, man. The bottle's in my pocket. Isn't that why you're here?" Joseph babbled, his face still pressed against the wall. "Ah, damn it. I really suck at this."

"You really do," James finished cuffing him and pulled him back from the wall.

Lewis took his handkerchief out and used it to fish the bottle out of Joseph's pocket. "Dilaudid?"

"It's a narcotic used for pain management," James explained. 

Lewis just shook his head in disgust, "Take _Curtis Warren_ here back to the station. I'll stay here and get a start on going through the records."

Lewis pulled out an evidence bag and dropped the bottle inside, sealing it up and passing it to Hathaway.

"Come along," Hathaway took Joseph by the arm and moved him down the hallway.

"Oh my, this is so horrible. On top of everything else to have one of our employees actually stealing from a client. And drugs!" Mrs. Kilpatrick looked horrified.

"You do all you can, ma'am, but sometimes you just can't pick out all the bad apples," Lewis gave her a sympathetic look. "Which is why we're here in the first place. Can I get to that paperwork, please?"

"Oh, yes... of course, Inspector. Right this way." She led him back through the offices and into a room full of filing cabinets. "You can look up information on the computer here, or if you need the actual documents, the scheduling sheets are in these first cabinets here. We keep the hard copies for about eighteen months."

Mrs. Kilpatrick logged him into the system and gave him a quick run through of how the system worked and how to find the types of files he'd need. "I have to get back to my own work, but if you need any help, feel free to come find me."

"Thank you for your help, ma'am." Lewis looked at the computer with a bit of a frown and then took a seat, slowly typing in the search information he was looking for. "I should have taken Joseph back to the nick and left this for James."

He sighed and stared at the screen.

*****

Three hours later he had a stack of notes, a dozen printouts, a stiff neck and a prayer that James would finish up at the station and hurry back. Lewis had discarded his coat and rolled up his sleeves for comfort, at some point and felt as if his arse end was becoming a permanent part of the chair. He wasn't computer illiterate by any means, but he couldn't get it to stand up and do tricks the way that James could. He had a feeling that was going to be needed before they managed to find any kind of coherent links in all of this mess.

The door opened and Jennifer Stanley walked in, "Oh, are you still here, Inspector? I just stepped in to return this file. This is one of my in-office days so I can catch up."

"I'll probably be here another hour or two," Lewis told her, twisting a bit to loosen the tension in his shoulders.

"My goodness," Miss Stanley shook her head. "That will take you to well after six. Won't your wife be missing you?"

"I'm a widower," Lewis said, reluctantly. "Only my cat to miss me, I'm afraid. Although, he'll act as if I've deserted him for months by the time I walk in."

She gave a little chuckle, "I can only imagine. Pets _can_ be a bit demanding."

"Especially cats."

"I dare say," Miss Stanley nodded. "I was going to make myself a cuppa. Can I bring one back for you?"

"That would be very nice of you, Miss. Thank you."

She gave a nod and went back out the door, closing it behind her.

Lewis looked back at his notes with little enthusiasm. As far as he could tell, most of the carers had regularly scheduled visits with each of their clients. A few hours, one or more days per week, depending on how much help the client and the carer thought was needed. They did, however, swap out clients occasionally, either due to a client's request or their own. Mrs. Kilpatrick had explained that 'finding a good fit' was one of their primary concerns. No one wanted to work for or be cared for by someone they didn't get on with. The carers also filled in for each other on a temporary basis during vacations or for personal business. That meant that each of the victims might be known by, and know, several of the carers well enough to trust them. All of the carers that they had interviewed had tended to each of the victims at one time or another, including the unlucky Joseph.

That left him with a lot of suspects and not a lot of answers yet.

"Here we go then," Miss Stanley bustled back into the room with their tea. "I wasn't sure if you took milk or sugar so I brought them along."

She had the full cups and everything balanced on a small tray that she sat down on the desk next to Lewis, "I had a box of biscuits in my desk so I brought those along as well."

"That was very nice of you, Miss. Thank you."

"Oh, it's no problem at all. As I said, I was making some for myself and I'd much rather have it with company than all alone..." her voice trailed off slightly, "...Oh, unless you're too busy to chat for a bit?"

Lewis looked at the files he'd gone through and then at the clock on the wall. It had been a long time since breakfast. "I think I can manage a few minutes."

"Lovely!" Miss Stanley said and pulled up a chair next to him. "I hope the tea is alright. It was a brand that I'm not familiar with, so it might be a bit strong or bitter."

"I'm sure it will be fine."

They both poured their tea and chose a biscuit. The tea was rather horrid, bitter and strong, even with the milk and sugar in it. Lewis drank as much of it as he could stomach, then set it aside. The company made up for the tea, though, and they sat and chatted about the things that strangers often did – the weather, the prices and the state of the economy, how they liked their jobs – and were well on their way to becoming casual acquaintances by the time James peeked his head in the door with raised eyebrow.

"Am I interrupting, sir?" 

"Oh, no. No." Miss Stanley assured. "I was just rambling at your boss for a bit. I need to get back to my paperwork as much as I'm sure you need to get back to yours."

"It was very nice of you to bring me the tea," Lewis told her sincerely.

"Oh, not a bit," She smiled at both of them and went out the door, taking the cups and all with her. 

"Ahchoo!" James sighed and pulled out his ever present package of tissues, "That seemed quite...cozy." 

Lewis gave him a bit of a huff, "More, I think, that we were both trying to avoid our work than anything else. Did you get Mr. Greenly processed through?"

"More or less," James answered, sitting in the chair that Miss Stanley had vacated. "He has an alibi for the first two murders, and claims to have been home alone at the time of the third."

"Now that we've decided that the murderer was probably connected with this agency, we'll have to call the carers back in for questioning." Lewis nodded. 

"Ahchoo!"

"Really, James. Maybe you'd best get in to see a doctor about that."

"I'm not sick, sir. Not really. It's more annoying than anything else."

"I'm sure it is," Lewis agreed with a frown. 

James looked at the computer, "Want me to take over with that while you make arrangements with Mrs. Kilpatrick?"

"Please," Lewis nodded and stood, swaying a bit when he reached his feet. "I'm completely knackered."

"Feeling your age, sir?" James asked, looking amused.

"That's enough from you," Lewis grumbled.

"If you'd like, sir, I'll finish up here and see if I can get this into some kind of coherent order. Then we can go over it first thing in the morning."

"Yeah. Thanks, lad."

*****  
Lewis hadn't been exaggerating when he said he was tired. It was all he could do to speak with Mrs. Kilpatrick and get himself home. He stumbled into his flat, went down the hallway to his bathroom, hanging his coat on the door handle and kicking off his shoes as he turned on the light.

Maybe James was right. Maybe he was feeling his age. Oh, he knew the lad had just been joking, but really, he certainly wasn't getting any younger. He was slowing down. Hadn't it just been that afternoon that he stood back and let James chase down a suspect, knowing there was no way he'd have been able to keep up? It was just a fact. You aged, you slowed down. If you were lucky you kept mentally alert and sharp, but there was no guarantee.

Lewis stood in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. He'd never had any illusions about his looks. _Comfortable,_ was what Laura had said, and he supposed that was fairly accurate. Tall and a bit bearish, with grin lines and bags under his eyes -- his face looked lived in. Especially now, when he was so tired, the bags almost resembled suitcases.

Ah, well, he was going in tomorrow to do interviews with the most likely suspects in a murder case, not to win a beauty contest. And hopefully getting some sleep would help.

The walk from the bathroom to his bed seemed almost insurmountable, but he managed it, collapsing into it with a sigh, not even bothering to change into his pyjamas.

*****  
**_“I am Lazarus, come from the dead,  
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”_**

 

"Sir?"

There was something buzzing by his ear. A fly, maybe, or a bee. It was horridly annoying and in just a minute he was going to reach up and brush it away.

"Sir!" 

The bee was closer now, and it had to be pretty big because he could feel it tapping against his face.

"Sir, wake up!"

"Loud..." he managed to get out, and felt oddly pleased with himself. His tongue felt too big for his mouth, awkward and tangled.

"Robbie, you need to wake up." 

It was James, and he had actually called him Robbie. That was unusual enough to get his attention, as well as being rather nice.

"Nice..." He mumbled out.

"Yes, I'm sure it is, but please wake up."

The lad's voice sounded odd, distressed in a way that Lewis hadn't often heard. And, for once, he seemed to be telling Lewis exactly what he wanted. He supposed that meant that he should try to comply.

Lewis cracked one eye open, to see James's worried face over him. It was wobbling back and forth in an odd way and it made Lewis feel a bit ill.

He closed his eyes again, "Stan stl."

"Robbie, come on!"

He felt awful, his chest heavy. He wondered for a moment if that big bee had landed on him and was holding him down.

"Heavy..."

"I know... Here." Pillows were being shoved under his head and that seemed to have made the bee fall off because he could breathe easier now. "Is that better?"

"Yeah..."

"The ambulance will be here in just a few moments, Robbie. Can you try to wake up? Please!"

James's voice sounded so insistent that Lewis felt he really should try to comply. He cracked his eyes open, "James?"

"Oh, thank God." James sounded truly grateful. It made Robbie want to do more than just open his eyes, but even that was a struggle.

"Tired."

"I know, sir. You've been drugged." He could feel James taking his hand. "Can you squeeze my fingers? Please? And stay awake!"

Squeeze his fingers? What a daft thing to ask for. But still, if it would make the lad happy, he'd give it a go.

"That's right. Good. Now the other hand. Good. Don't go back to sleep."

"Tryin'." It was far more difficult than he thought it would be. As a matter of fact, closing his eyes seemed to be the only thing his body and his brain could agree on at the moment.

"Sir? Damn it, Robbie! Wake up!"

He tried very hard, since James seemed to want it so much, but the bee had obviously landed on his face and it was holding his eyes shut. Really the only sensible thing to do would be to sleep until the damn thing flew away.

"Robbie!!"

*****

The room was very bright, was the first thought Lewis had upon awakening. The second was that the damn bee was still in the room, because he could hear a soft susurrus swish. Of course, he could also hear something that was beeping, and something that was pounding out a very steady but annoying thump.

Robbie looked around, or tried to. He was stiff and sore and felt rather like someone had been jumping on his chest. His tongue still felt a bit overlarge and his whole mouth was dry and stale tasting.  
He suddenly froze. There was something down his throat and it felt like he was choking. He tried to reach up towards his face but his hands were restrained. He had to get up... get away!

"Sir? Robbie. Stop. It's alright." James was suddenly there, one hand laid gently on his chest. "You stopped breathing and they had to put in a ventilation tube. Let me call the doctor."

A ventilation tube? What the hell had happened to him? He tried to talk but that only made the feeling of choking worse. 

"Don't try to talk. Someone will be here in a moment." James's voice was concerned sounding, but calm. It made Robbie feel more calm himself. "They had to restrain you to make sure you didn't panic and try to take the tube out when you woke up."

Yeah, probably wise that, because he would have. It was a horrible feeling.

The nurse peeked in the door, saw he was awake, and then disappeared only to return moments later with the doctor. Hathaway stepped back, and Lewis instantly missed the feel of his calming hand.

"Well, now Mr. Lewis. It's about time you woke up. And you seem to be breathing much better now. I think we can take this tube out...but you need to be careful. You had a bad time and you'll need to take it easy and not put any stress on your lungs. Do you understand?"

Lewis nodded slowly and carefully, ever aware of the tube down his throat.

"Alright then. I need you to be as still and relaxed as you can manage."

The whole thing was horrible, but Lewis was certain that it hadn't taken the hours that it felt like it took to get the damn thing out. By the time they were finished, he was exhausted.

"You did very well, Mr. Lewis. We'll remove the restraints as well. Try not to talk. Your throat is going to be quite sore for a bit. If you have any problems or feel short of breath at all, I want you to buzz for help immediately, alright?"

A nod was all Lewis could manage before he fell back asleep.

*****

The next time he woke up, he felt a bit better. He could still hear the noises from before but a soft buzzing sound had been added to them. He turned his head to look around the room.

The buzzing, at least, was easily explained. There was a chair pulled up to the side of his bed and James was sitting in it, his long gentle face leaning against his fist as he slumped to one side. His breathing was obviously not very good and was coming out in low wheezes. It didn't look like a very comfortable position and the lad was probably going to have a terribly stiff neck when he woke up. 

There was a sudden snort and James sat up straighter in his chair, his eyes coming open. "Sir?"

Lewis tried to answer but all that came out was a very rusty sounding, "Ya..."

"Here, let me get you some water." Hathaway jumped up and brought a cup with a straw to his lips, holding it while Robbie took a long slow drink. "Is that better, sir?"

"Better," he managed to croak out. "Wha' happen'?"

"You were drugged," James said. "With something that combined with your blood pressure medication and sent you into shock. You stopped breathing."

"How?"

"Probably in your tea," James said quietly. "I made a connection that the only times my allergies acted up was when I was in the presence of Miss Stanley or one of the murder victims. It wasn't much of a jump from there to look up the records and find that she'd been assigned to each of them at some point during the last month. I tried to call you, but you didn't pick up your phone. I came by to check and found you unconscious. "

"All circumstan--" Lewis tried to get out the words.

"Circumstantial?" James offered. "It would be, except that when they went to pick her up for questioning, she still had the drugs on her, along with the drugs that were used on Miss Yates. It seems that Joseph Greenly wasn't the only one who was appropriating prescription medication from his clients."

"Why?" Lewis coughed and James offered him some more water. Why them? Why me? He wanted to add, but talking was still very rough.

James frowned and shifted in his chair a bit uncomfortably, "So you'd die while you were still healthy, while your mind was still sharp. She...she had it in her head that since you all were alone and had no one to care for you that you'd prefer it...rather than a longer life spent all alone while the depletions of old age caught up with you."

"Oh." Really, what was there to say to something like that? It really wasn't much more than he'd told himself lately, although not as cold-bloodedly or in those exact words. What use would he be to the world after he retired? He could see the appeal of ending it all, but on his own terms, not something determined by some stranger with...well, he couldn't even call them good intentions, could he?

"Ridiculous idea," James huffed. "They've already taken her in for a psychiatric evaluation. She's probably going to wind up in an institution rather than jail."

"For the best." Robbie managed. Miss Stanley off to an institution and he'd be here, waiting for retirement and the endless days of worrying over his health, his cat and whether he should be raising budgies. 

_Damn._ He wondered if it was the aftermath of what he'd been drugged with, or if the doctor had given him something else. Budgies... _huh._

"Sir?"

"Yeah?" He looked up at James where he towered over his bedside. He was fidgeting again and Lewis wondered what odd start the lad was going to come up with next. 

Hathaway took a deep breath before he spoke, "Finding you like that was one of the most horrible things I've ever done. Please...don't make me have to do that again. Preferably ever."

"Try not." It was a paper bag promise and they both knew it -- easily given and easily broken considering their jobs. 

The thought was depressing and very tiring, although Lewis was determined to blame it on the drugs. "Tired."

"Yes, I'm sure. Get some more sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

"Be fine. Should go home."

"I'll be here when you wake up." James's voice brooked no arguments and Lewis since hadn't enough energy to give any, he drifted off to sleep.

*****

**_"I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each..."_ **

 

When he woke again, however, it wasn't Hathaway's long legs that he saw stretched out beside his bed, but a pair of shorter and shapelier ones. 

"Well, good morning, Sunshine. Did you decide to return to us for a bit?" Laura's voice was far more chipper than the expression on her face.

There was also a nurse taking his blood pressure and making notes on a file. He waited for her to leave before he asked the question he most wanted answered.

"James?" His voice was still rough, but his throat felt much better. Laura quickly brought him some water and that helped even more.

"I shoved him out the door about an hour ago to get something to eat and a bit of sleep. I promised I'd stay here until he got back."

"Not dyin'." Lewis grumbled. "Can stay by meself."

"You almost did die, Robbie Lewis. Don't make a joke of it!" Laura's voice cracked and she was blinking her eyes in such a way that he knew she was trying to hold back tears.

"Sorry..." Lewis reached out and took her hand.

"You should be. This really shook James up. This is the first time he's left your side since they brought you in."

"Didn't need ta do tha'." He coughed roughly, one hand against his chest. _Damn that hurt._

That had Laura fussing about, giving him more water, straightening his blankets and fluffing his pillow. "He did need to do it, Robbie. For himself, if not for you. You're the closest thing James has to a family...and he almost lost you. How do you expect him to react?"

Put that way, he supposed it made sense. "He's... good friend."

"Yes he is." Laura sat down again. "And there were times when I thought..."

Her voice trailed off and she stared out the window until Lewis prompted her, "What?"

"I thought that maybe there was a bit more to his feelings than friendship. But I was never sure."

Part of Robbie wanted to snap out a quick denial, but another part of him, a very small and confused part, wanted to ask for examples. Finally he just shook his head, "He needs --"

"I think you should let James decide what he needs," Laura cut him off. "Just...just keep an open mind, Robbie, okay?"

An open mind? That was the one thing that James had caused him to find since day one. But still, he knew what Laura meant. He was a stubborn old man and had a tendency to think he knew what was best for everyone. "I will. Don't fret."

Laura just nodded and smiled at him fondly, "What would you like? I could put on the television or I brought you a book. It's light with a predictable plot so that if you fall asleep you won't lose the thread."

"Goody," Lewis gave a small chuckle, trying to avoid another coughing fit. There really were other things he'd rather talk about, but the words were still hard to come and he still felt so tired, "What drug?" 

He waved one hand about and hoped she understood that he was asking what drug he'd been dosed with to wind up where he was.

"It was a bit of a cocktail, from what I understand." Thank goodness for Laura's skills at pantomime. "They worked to make you sleepy and then actually paralyzed your respiratory system. It's amazing that you made it home and you were very lucky that James found you as soon as he did."

"Home?" He tried to put a hopeful tone into the question.

Laura gave him an exasperated head shake, "That's for your doctor to say, Robbie."

"But--"

"Robbie..."

He huffed out a breath which almost set him coughing again. "Right. Telly. 'M bad company."

"And yet you have such nice companions." Laura's mouth curled up in a smile, but she obediently turned on the television.

Lewis didn't get to watch much of it, though. He drifted off to sleep before the first commercial break.

*****

If there were anything in the world that Lewis hated, it was being in hospital. The second thing he hated was losing time from unexpected naps. The only thing worse was losing time from _unexpected naps in the bloody hospital!_

At least James was back. Or he assumed it was James. All he could see was the top of his head as the rest of his face was hidden behind a book. Lewis squinted at the cover. _Damon and Pythias?_

"Oh, you're awake," James suddenly looked up and smiled. "You must have needed the rest. Laura said you slept most of the time I was gone and you managed to miss the whole twenty minutes that the Chief Superintendent was here."

Well, maybe he didn't quite hate losing time due to unexpected naps after all. A visit from your boss could be awkward, even more so if you could barely speak up for yourself. "Just lucky."

"Would you like something to drink? The doctor said that warm drinks would help soothe your throat and your breathing." James told him. "I won't offer you tea under the circumstances but coffee, maybe?"

Lewis grimaced. He'd probably be off tea for quite some time. "Not just now."

James tugged the chair a bit closer to put him more in Robbie's direct line of sight. 

"Wanted to say thanks. Didn't before."

"I was very glad to do it," James assured him. "But only the once, right? You promised."

Lewis nodded, "Not easy to be shed of, me."

"Nor me," James told him. "You do know I've told Lyn that I'd be staying with you until you were ready to go back to work?"

Lewis's eyes went wide at that, "Why?"

"She was panicking. She couldn't figure out how she could come down to help you and take care of your grandson. She thought it best she not bring him because he'd tire you out, but she didn't have anyone to watch him. " James gave Lewis a half smile, "I assured her that I had it all well in hand and I'd make sure you behaved and got well as soon as possible. So please don't make me out a liar, sir."

Lewis frowned. "Bit beyond a bagman's duties."

"But not beyond a friend," James tilted his head at him.

"S'pose not."

And that was the point of it all, wasn't it? James was his friend come Hell or high water or old(er) age. In a world that was making him a bit obsolete, it made him feel as if he had at least one purpose if he could claim James as a friend.

What was that quote the lad had used the other day? 

Something about _learning more if you read._

Lewis had a feeling that as long as he had the book that was James Hathaway, there would always be more for him to know.

 

*****  
**EPILOGUE**  
*****

**_"And indeed there will be time_**  
**_To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”_**  
**_Time to turn back and descend the stair..."_**

 

"And so with pride and not a little bit of sadness, we present this year's Master trophy to Harold Granger. He was a man who was a master, not only at chess but at life. And for those who he taught, both in the game and in their school work, he will be long remembered as a friend, a leader, a mentor and, in truth, a simply wonderful and kind human being. I'd like to offer a moment of silence in his memory and then I'll step down. We have a book on the side table where I'd like to invite all of you to write down your memories of Hal. Just a few words would be lovely. Then we can all share them and remember him."

Lewis watched as Mr. Morgan stepped down from the podium after the moment of silence. People began to mill about the room, talking and greeting each other, a few of them heading directly to the memory book to write down...well, whatever they wanted, Lewis supposed.

"Inspector Lewis. Sergeant." Mr. Morgan greeted them with a nod of his head. "It's good to see you looking so well, Inspector. I had heard what happened to you. Terrible business."

"Yes. It was." Lewis declined to elaborate on it. It had happened and now it was over.

They all exchanged a few more pleasantries and then Mr. Morgan wandered off to greet the other guests.

"I suppose this is a comfort to people." Lewis spoke softly. And no grieving spouse to stand, numb and heartbroken, trying to smile and thank people for their kind words. That was the one of the only worries he'd ever had about doing his job -- that Val might be the one left to suffer through that. He'd never given the thought that it might be himself instead. "And nice, I suppose, to be remembered by someone, even if it's only for something like being good at chess."

_"I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be..."_ James said, looking off across the room.

"What's that?"

"A poem."

"Of course it is." Lewis huffed out a breath, "What's it about then?"

"It's...well... not everyone is famous. Some people are the King and some are just 'attendant lords' meant to fill in the background of the scene." James explained, "It's a bit about life's futility and the writer's own inability to take a strong part in life."

"Well, that's a bit depressing."

"I don't think he had much joy in his life," James conceded. "He didn't seem to appreciate what he had and never took many chances, not on love or friendship. It's a mind set that I can, sometimes, understand."

"If you don't take the chance, you can't get hurt." 

"Exactly," James nodded.

"It's too late for you then," Lewis said, "you've already claimed friendship with me."

James eyes cut over to Lewis's face, his eyes full of...well, something inexplicable, to Lewis at any rate.

"Pub?" Lewis offered.

"Certainly, sir," James conceded, a small smile playing around his lips as he held the door open for Lewis to precede him. 

 

~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> Section breaks are from [The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock](http://www.bartleby.com/198/1.html) by T. S. Eliot
> 
> The title is from [Let Me Die A Youngman's Death](http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/let-me-die-a-youngman-s-death/) by Roger McGough


End file.
